Emperor: the field of swords E#3 Read Free

replied without looking at him. He watched the boy for a moment and felt a weight lift off him. He had made the right decision, he was sure. He had seen himself in the Spaniard’s eyes and it was like lifting a veil into his memory. How frightening Sulla had seemed then. To Adŕn, Julius would have been another of that cruel type, wrapped in metal armor and harder thoughts. How close he had come to sending Adŕn to be impaled, or burnt, or nailed to the gates of the fort, as Sulla had with so many of his enemies. It was an irony that Sulla’s old whim had saved Adŕn, but Julius had caught himself before he gave the order for death and wondered at what he was becoming. He would not be those men he had hated. Age would not force him into their mold, if he had the strength. He rose from his seat and faced Adŕn.
        “I do not expect you to waste this chance, Adŕn. You will not have another from me.”
        Adŕn almost burst into tears, emotions roiling and overwhelming him. He had prepared himself for death, and having it snatched away and freedom promised was too much for him. On an impulse, he took a step forward and went down on one knee before anyone could react.
        Julius stood slowly, looking down at the young man before him.
        “We are not the enemy, Adŕn. Remember that. I will have a scribe prepare the pardon. Wait below for me,” he said.
        Adŕn rose and looked into the Roman’s dark eyes for a last moment before leaving the room. As the door closed behind him, he sagged against the wall, wiping sweat from his face. He felt dizzy with relief and every breath he pulled in was clear and cold. He could not understand why he had been spared.
        The guard in the room below craned his head to stare up at Adŕn’s slumped figure in the shadows.
        “Shall I heat the knives for you, then?” the Roman sneered up at him.
        “Not today,” Adŕn replied, enjoying the look of confusion that passed over the man’s face.
        
        Brutus pressed a cup of wine into Julius’s hand, pouring expertly from an amphora.
        “Are you going to tell us why you let him go?” he said.
        Julius lifted the cup to cut off the flow and drank from it before holding it out again. “Because he was brave,” he said.
        Renius rubbed the bristles of his chin with his hand. “He will be famous in the towns, you realize. He will be the man who faced us and lived. They’ll probably make him mayor when old Del Subió dies. The young ones will flock around him and before you know it-”
        “Enough,” Julius interrupted, his face flushing from the heady wine. “The sword is not the answer to everything, no matter how you may wish it so. We have to live with them without sending our men out in pairs and watching every alley and track for ambush.” His hands cut shapes in the air as he strained to find words for the thought.
        “They must be as Roman as we are, willing to die for our causes and against our enemies. Pompey showed the way with the legions he raised here. I spoke the truth when I said we were not the enemy. Can you understand that?”
        “I understand,” Ciro spoke suddenly, his deep voice rumbling out over Renius’s reply.
        Julius’s face lit with the idea. “There it is. Ciro was not born in Rome, but he came to us freely and is of Rome.” He struggled for words, his mind running faster than his tongue. “Rome is… an idea, more than blood. We must make it so that for Adŕn to cast us off would be like tearing his own heart out. Tonight, he will wonder why he wasn’t killed. He will know there can be justice, even after the death of a Roman soldier. He will tell the story and those who doubt will pause. That is enough of a reason.”
        “Unless he killed the man for sport,” Renius said, “and he tells his friends we are weak and stupid.” He didn’t trust himself to speak further, but crossed to Brutus and took the amphora from him,